


Leave A Light On

by lookslikehecansurf



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Getting Back Together, M/M, Past Relationship(s), kinda angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 01:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8230936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookslikehecansurf/pseuds/lookslikehecansurf
Summary: When Luke and Michael broke up, both were sure they could get over it. Reality disagreed. or, "I found your phone and I was going to return it until I realized you’re my ex and now I’m not sure what to do" au





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesoulsailor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesoulsailor/gifts).



> title is from the Yellowcard song of the same name which basically gave this whole thing the idea. (you can listen to it as you read if you want to)

Michael wasn’t big on coffee shops before.

It’s cliche and always loud, and the coffee is way too expensive. But now Michael finds himself in the small shop near the college campus yet again.

Yes, the noise is still annoying, but Michael will take that over the crushing sense of loneliness that quiet places bring him. The coffee is good and worth the money, and Michael looks forward to coming here before he has to go back home and be there alone. Calum dropped out and works most days, and when he’s not he’s out there meeting boys.

Michael can’t even think about seeing anyone. He knows his useless brain will compare every pair of eyes studying his own to the sky blue ones he’s likely to never see again. He knows he’ll never be able to see another person in the light that he still sees Luke in.

Speaking of light, there seems to be something wrong with power today because the lightbulbs in the coffee shop keep flicking on and off every five minutes, and people are glancing around annoyed. Michael doesn’t care - his phone screen is bright enough, and he dives into another European Music History book he’s been told to read.

He raises his head an hour later to realize that the lights have turned off completely and the staff are closing the shop, asking everyone to leave.

Michael drops some money on the table and gets up to follow everyone else, but when he walks past the table not far away from his, he sees an iPhone on the slick wood, clearly forgotten.

Michael turns around unsurely. Maybe the owner rushed off and forgot it because the shop was closing? Maybe they’re still getting their order or something? Michael glances at the bar counter but it’s empty, only a bored-looking cashier hovers over the other side of it. Michael picks up the phone, trying to not let the slim object slip out of his small hands. Whoever owns it must be a risky person - no one walks around without a case on their phone nowadays. A pang of hurt takes Michael by surprise - Luke used to never put a case on his phone and Michael used to tease him about it...

A couple of steps, and Michael’s in front of the cashier.

“We’re closed,” the guy says before Michael can open his mouth. He obviously can’t wait to get out of here and go home, but Michael doesn’t give up.

“Someone must have left this behind that table,” he waves the phone around. The cashier, a scrawny-looking guy with eagerness to get rid of the customers written plainly across his face, sighs.

“What?”

Michael patiently repeats. The guy frowns.

“Well, honestly I don’t get what you want me to do here…” he trails off, and Michael’s starting to feel irritated.

“Can’t you ask the waiters who sat there? What if they recognize this person, what if they’re a frequent? Even if not, don’t you have, like, a lost and found?”

The guy blinks at Michael tiredly, then probably decides that it’s worth the effort to go and get a waiter just to get Michael off his back. He walks up to the kitchen door and yells out a name, then plops back on his stool. Michael sees a girl walk out of the door, nametag reading “Zoe”, and smiles in hopes to get on her better side.

“Hey, someone left this on that table,” Michael turns around to point. “Do you remember who it was?”

“Erm, no, not really, this table has been empty for the last half an hour,” Zoe says, sounding sorry, and Michael nods. It’s a wonder no one stole the phone, really.

“Well, can I leave it with you in case they come back?”

Zoe’s expression becomes wary.  “No, I’m sorry, but we can’t take that. We officially don’t have a lost and found box, and no one of the staff really wants to get in trouble, you know,” she explains, and Michael sighs. Of course the staff wouldn’t want to carry around someone else’s phone cause they could be accused of stealing it, and what would they even do with it if the owner never came back?

“Okay, thanks anyway,” Michael says, turning around to leave, and he has no choice but to take the phone with him.

He puts it safely into his inner pocket and walks home against the blaring wind that totally messed up the hairstyle he’s spent an hour putting together in the morning. It looks like it’s gonna rain, so Michael walks quickly, only hoping to get back before he’s not only cold but soaking wet in addition.

He makes it, but the first drops are already visible on the pavement in front of his apartment building, so Michael pats himself on the back for at least accomplishing this today and takes the elevator because this was enough exercise for months ahead.

When he’s home, he changes into a comfy sweater, makes himself coffee and turns on his acoustic playlist for rainy days, because if there’s one thing Michael knows how to do, it’s to set up the mood.

Finally, Michael takes out the found iPhone and gets a good look at it. It’s plain white, without a case (which alone makes Michael anxious) and with a screen that has a little crack in the upper left corner. Michael turns the phone around, looking for any clues as to whose phone it might be, and the silver object almost falls out of his small fingers. There’s a scratch on the lower part of it, a long line across the bottom and then a series of shorter ones, and Michael can’t help the lump that appears in his throat.

What are the odds?

What are the odds that this scratch was a result of a fight, the first out of all the fights Luke and Michael had? What are the odds this phone was the one that Luke threw at the wall in despair right before the first time he walked out the door? What are the odds that this is the phone Michael took from the floor, amazed how it survived with only a scratch for damage, and cradled it in his hands, afraid that Luke would not return?

What are the odds?

Michael turns the phone around again, the shiny screen reflecting the light in his face. Unsure, he presses the home button, and the screen lights up; there’s a generic photo of a night sky set as the lockscreen, which really doesn’t tell much about the owner.

“Slide to unlock”

Michael does. And then, when the thin numbers in elegant circles demand for a passcode, he punches in the four numbers. 1120.

Impossibly, the screen unlocks.

Michael wants to cry. More than confirming that this phone was indeed Luke’s, he gets another thing to think about: that Luke had yet to change his passcode, which is the date of Michael’s birthday.

Michael remembers another day, another fight because Luke forgot about his goddamn birthday, and after the yelling died down Luke offered to make the date his passcode so he wouldn’t ever forget it. That made Michael laugh, but Luke said he was actually gonna do it, and Michael argued that a birthday is too obvious, and Luke said he’d put the month first to make it slightly less obvious, and Michael felt endeared and loved and he kissed Luke and let it be.

And now he’s sat on the bed in the room that’s already dark because he never got up to turn on the lights, and Luke’s phone is in his hand, unlocked and shining in Michael’s face.

Well, Michael thinks distantly, he might as well go all the way, so he falls back on the bed and pushes the phone icon.

The recent calls are all the familiar names: Ben and Jack, Luke’s older brothers, Ashton the neighbor, his mum Liz, people from Luke’s classes… Michael’s heart skips a beat when the name “Calum” pops up on the screen, the date telling him they talked just a week ago. So Calum talks to Luke behind Michael’s back? Does Calum tell Luke that Michael’s been miserable after Luke broke up with him? Does he know what’s going on in Luke’s life?

Michael scrolls a bit too much out of anger and is distracted by the sight of his own name one the screen because he’s now looking at Luke’s call history from two months ago. The simple “Mikey” that makes his heart start up again and beat faster than before because it’s still there, Luke never deleted the number, never changed the name to something degrading like “ex bf don’t pick up”. He doesn’t know how to feel about that, the fact that Luke never truly let go either, but then nothing makes sense anymore because Luke is the one who broke it off. Fuck, this was not how Michael wanted this day to go.

He exits to the main screen and clicks the gallery. He will not go through Luke’s iMessages, because he’s not a nosy prick. Okay, he might be, but not _that_ much of one, Michael thinks to himself scrolling through camera roll. It’s mostly study-related things, like lists of recommended books and deadlines for projects and people’s homework and schedules and such. Sometimes there are pics of sky or streets or groups of college kids, but they’re rare and a bit clumsy, and Michael smiles at how Luke they are. He scrolls more, wading through the mess that is Luke’s camera roll with increasing speed, but when he sees it, he puts his finger on the screen to stop the scrolling.

It’s a selfie, and the sight of it makes Michael’s heart swell in a bittersweet sort of way. Luke looks the same, with his quiff falling a little to the side and his blue eyes shining bright and the curve of his eyebrows still prominent and his tongue stuck between his teeth in a cute smile. The photo is a little over a month old, Michael notes as he checks the timestamp, but he knows Luke’s never been one for selfies. He looks… if not happy, then contempt is the word Michael would go for, and while Michael is glad he seems like he’s doing okay, a selfish part of him wishes Luke didn’t. It’s mean and Michael hates himself for even thinking that, but then again, he hates himself most of the time. Like, what else is new. Also, Luke kind of deserves that for walking out on them like he did.

Suddenly Michael doesn’t feel like looking any further. He locks the phone, almost throwing it on the bedside table, and picks up the mug of his forgotten coffee.

What the hell is he supposed to do now?

He has to give the phone back, Michael thinks. But he doesn’t want to see Luke. Asking Calum to pass it seems like the way, considering that they’re apparently talking, but it’s so cowardly that Michael doesn’t want to do it. Luke will know in an instant that it wasn’t Calum who found it, because Calum hates coffee shops and never goes there, and because Luke always figures out when people lie to him.

So, Michael has to give it back himself.

His eyes become teary just from the thought that he has to see Luke again, and he hates himself for anticipating it a little. He should be over him, even if this goddamned phone is sending him mixed signals right now. Michael can’t lie to himself and say that he is. Not even close, he thinks sadly, and almost falls off the bed when there’s a knock on the door.

Calum has the keys, so it’s not him, and Jack and Alex from upstairs never bother to knock, kicking the door open whenever they feel like it, so Michael’s a little puzzled as of who this visitor is. He gets up, quickly wiping his eyes, and walks up to the door, opening it only to find the only person he simultaneously longs and doesn’t want to see.

Luke.

It’s not the Luke Michael remembers, and it’s not the Luke he’s seen in that selfie.

He looks older, in his mid-twenties, even though Michael knows he’s still nineteen. His hair looks darker, left to its own devices to lie flat against the top of his head in messy waves. His jaw and chin are covered in stubble, and his eyes are hidden in deep shadows around them.

Now it’s clear that Luke hasn’t been doing that well, but Michael doesn’t feel any satisfaction about that. Only pity and a pang of shame, like it’s his own doing that brought Luke to this condition. He has to remind himself Luke was the one to walk out.

“Hi.” Luke says, lowly, and Michael feels a lump in his throat again. What do you say to a person that used to be your everything but isn’t anymore? How are you supposed to act casual when everything about this hurts?

And a part of Michael wants to just end it, to push Luke’s phone in his hands and make him leave as soon as possible, but Michael can’t do that, so he just tries to swallow the lump and when he fails, he just steps aside and lets Luke come in.

Now he notices that Luke is drenched, his leather jacket shining with raindrops and the shirt underneath is all dark at the front where the rain hit it.

“How did you-” Michael starts, and Luke is ready to answer.

“I went back to the coffee shop and they told me another guy took the phone, so I asked what he looked like and they described you,” Luke says softly, his hands are clasped together in what could be nervousness or cold. Michael sighs and walks up to the dresser, pulling out the lowest drawer and reaching deep inside. He knows this is going to hurt more and more, but there’s no way to escape it now.

Michael turns around and throws Luke a piece of clothing that he catches, looking surprised.

“Wait, that’s my shirt,” he notes, looking at the striped sweatshirt Michael gave him. He looks at the other boy, and Michael doesn’t want to talk but has to.

“You left it here. Never came back to pick the rest of your stuff.” Michael notices Luke’s face fall a little and turns away, as if giving him space to change out of the wet clothes but really to just avoid looking at this person whose single presence in this apartment hurt so much.

“It’s still a mess,” Luke says longingly, and Michael looks at him again to see that he’s holding his wet shirt and the jacket in his hands as his stare sweeps the room.

“So are you,” Michael grumbles, unable to help himself, and Luke’s reaction is just what it should be - a small smile and reddened cheeks.

“You are still mean.”

“And you still forget stuff,” Michael shoots back, grabbing the phone from the table and throwing it to Luke. He catches it, long, graceful fingers clutching it securely, and Michael remembers the way those fingers traced every detail of his body, caressed and squeezed and rubbed and… that’s really not what Michael should be thinking about right now.

“You’re not living alone,” Luke notes, throwing a glance at the hangers, where the amount of coats and jackets and pairs of shoes underneath give it away. “Already traded me in for a newer model?”

“Like you don’t know that from calling Calum,” Michael retorts, and Luke looks at him surprised and hurt.

“You looked through my phone?”

“Well, I had to figure out whose is it and you still had your old passcode,” Michael fires back, deciding that the best defense was an attack.

“You knew it was mine when the code fit,” Luke says, his voice cold. What is he so afraid of Michael seeing?

But he’s right, Michael realizes suddenly. He had no right to snoop when he already knew damn well who the phone belonged to. Michael doesn’t want to admit this, but he’s grown to look past the “don’t want” thing to move to “have to”.

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly, rising his head to look at Luke, and the blond boy’s expression softens immediately, sending another wave of mixed pain and longing in Michael’s direction.

“No, I should be sorry. For a lot more than this,” Luke says, and Michael somehow knows that he’s been wanting to start this conversation for a long time. He looks at Luke just in time to see him grazing his teeth over his bottom lip, and Michael suddenly realizes there’s no black metal ring around it. Luke took it out.

And Michael misses it, he misses the feeling of the metal on his lips when they kissed, misses Luke’s old habit of biting on it when he’s nervous, misses it grazing his skin whenever Luke would start leaving hickeys all over his body, and suddenly Michael doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Michael?” Luke’s soft voice cuts right through Michael’s heart, calling his name for the first time in a long time, and he realizes he must have changed his expression. He shoots a look at Luke, blue eyes shining worriedly at him from under the fringe, and Michael’s about to crumble because as much as he hates to admit, he misses Luke.

Luke makes a noise, something between a sigh and a whimper that reverberates deep within Michael’s aching heart, and then he’s walking over to where Michael is standing, stopping right in front of him.

“Mikey, I miss you too,” he gives back softly, and then Michael realizes he must have said his last thought out loud.

The nickname only Luke used makes Michael’s heart swell, but it also hurts, and no, Michael can’t do this. Luke looks at him, awaiting, but when he stays silent, decides to speak.

“I want you back,” he almost whispers, his hand gingerly touches Michael’s. He doesn’t dare take it, and that’s damn right of him because Michael’s vision is clouded with a red curtain of fury.

“You left!” he screams, staggering back, away from the sickening smell of Luke’s soap and aftershave, away from his pleading eyes and familiar hands. “I asked, no, I fucking _begged_ you to stay and you left!”

“I know,” Luke says, his voice strained with pain. He looks like a kicked puppy and there was a time when Michael would do anything to get this look off his face, but it’s gone now. “I know, fuck, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Please, I’m so sorry,” he continues to plead.

“I don’t care,” Michael says, voice thick with venomous indifference. “Why should it matter if you’re sorry or not? We’re done Luke, you’re the one who said it.”

There’s a silence, and Luke lowers his head, blinking furiously. “But you said you miss me,” he whispers hopelessly, holding back sobs. Michael feels guilty again. He did say that. He misses Luke, and a part of him wants him back but a bigger part is scared it’ll just burn out again, leaving Michael broken-hearted.

“I miss the way it was,” he admits quietly. He’s got no energy to yell anymore.

Luke’s head raises quickly, loose wavy strands falling over his eyes.

“Mikey,” he says, voice trembling. “Mikey, it’ll be just the way it was. I’ll do anything, I mean it, anything,” he stumbles over his words, afraid to hope but unable to give up.

“No, Luke,” Michael says with a sad smile, calling his name only because it might make him pay attention. “It won’t ever be the same.”

They both know it’s true. Michael will never be able to forget that Luke walked out on him, will never stop being scared that it’ll happen again. And Luke will never be fully happy, seeing Michael torn like that.

Luke seems to finally understand that, because his broad shoulder slump in defeat and he turns around, walking back to the door. Michael follows temptatively, and Luke opens the door with a movement so effortless that can only mean habit. It’s another stab to Michael’s tortured soul, just as painful as the other ones.

Luke turns around in the doorway, and Michael can see wet lines on his cheeks. Luke’s not ashamed of his tears, he’s not wiping them away. He just stops his pained gaze on Michael, freezing in his spot.

“What?” Michael wants it to be angry, defensive and repulsive, but it comes out tired and quiet, and Luke swallows more tears in order to speak.

“Please, if I could just-” Luke breaks off, looks away. Michael waits, pretending that his heart doesn’t break with every tear that rolls down Luke’s cheeks.

“Can I kiss you?” Luke whispers. “One last time?”

He really should say no, he shouldn’t give in, but Michael’s head seems to have a mind of its own as it nods, signifying permission, and Luke chokes back a sob, stepping closer again. The clothes he is still holding are dropped to the floor in an instant. Luke hands fly up to cup Michael’s cheeks, soft fingers resting on Michael’s cheekbones, and suddenly it’s just like before. There’s nothing else left in the world but Luke, his eyes still full of tears, his nose that is perpetually pointing up, his plump, ridiculously pink lips, his delicate neck that used to always be marked with Michael’s kisses, his enormous shoulders and his wide chest, his firm torso and his strong arms… Michael’s lost, he’s lost in Luke and he knows he just crossed the line he’s been fighting to keep all this time. And Luke hasn’t even kissed him yet.

No, he’s just standing there, his face inches away from Michael’s, blue eyes looking nervous into Michael’s as if asking for permission one more time. That’s Luke, too - making sure a hundred times that Michael is into it, and it brings back so many memories - not sad or heartbreaking ones, but happy ones - that Michael can’t contain it any longer.

“Fuck, just kiss me,” he growls, his own arms finding their way around Luke’s waist to bring him closer, and then Luke’s lips are on his, and Michael’s pretty sure he’s about to pass out.

Luke kisses him gently, not hungrily, though his hands on Michael’s face are firm. His tongue barely touches Michael’s lips, when Michael loses it. He licks into Luke’s mouth, relishing in the taste of the familiar lips, losing himself in the head-spinning kiss. Luke’s hands move to his neck, holding Michael in place, but he’s not going anywhere. It’s been so long since he’d been with anybody... No, so long since he’d been with _Luke_ , because he couldn’t even imagine being with someone else, so he never tried, - it’s been so long that Michael feels the need to catch up for all this lost time, kissing Luke like there’s no tomorrow.

Eventually they pull away, but Michael’s arms stay locked on the small of Luke’s back and Luke’s are still holding Michael so gently but so surely, and Luke’s lips are swollen from the fierce kiss, but he’s smiling a soft, insecure smile of someone who is scared to believe in his own happiness.

“Fuck you,” Michael says decidedly, but doesn’t make a move to get away, and Luke smiles wider, knowing he doesn’t mean it. He plants another kiss, this time on Michael’s cheek, then closer to his jawline, before moving completely to Michael’s neck only to pepper it with kisses. Michael can’t help it - his eyes flutter close again, and his hands travel up Luke’s back to lose themselves in Luke’s hair that are still damp from the rain. It feels different, not styled in Luke’s usual quiff, but judging by the strangled whimper that leaves Luke’s throat, he still likes it.

“Mikey,” Luke whispers, his hot breath burning imprints into the skin on Michael’s neck. “Oh, my god. Mikey, my Mikey.”

Michael’s heart melts at these words, and he gives in completely, pulling Luke impossibly closer, hiding his burning face in the crook of Luke’s neck.

“Mikey,” Luke is still whispering, not kissing anymore, just holding Michael there. “I missed you so much. Mikey, I love you. I never stopped. Mikey, oh, _Michael_ , I’m such an idiot,” he cries, and Michael pulls away, looks up in Luke’s face only to see it wet with tears again.

“Mikey,” he whispers, like it’s the only thing he hangs on to. “I’m sorry.”

And Michael’s heart hurts again, his fingers wiping the tears away from Luke’s face. He kisses away the ones his hands can’t catch, while Luke cries his heart out, collapsing in Michael’s arms.

Michael takes a step back, dragging Luke along because this is really no way to solve this - standing in the doorway kissing and crying, and he almost succeeds, but Luke breaks out suddenly, another sob shaking his body.

“Luke, come on,” Michael says, reaching for him again, but Luke turns away.

“No, no, I can’t stay!” he screams out, and Michael sighs. What the hell is wrong now?

“Luke, don’t be an idiot. Come on in,” he tries again, but Luke gives him a look full of horror.

“I can’t, don’t you see? I’m a fucking mess, I’m an idiot, I don’t fucking deserve you! You, or your pity, or your kisses, or-”

“Or my love?” Michael interrupts, glaring at him. “No, that’s exactly what you came here for, and now you’re saying you don’t deserve it? Fuck that!”

Luke freezes, dumbfounded. His mouth falls slightly agape, he blinks once, twice. Michael waits, completely lost as of what else to do or say. This has gone completely off the rails.

“You- you… love me?” Luke asks, so incredulously that Michael gets confused himself.

“Of course I do, you dumb fuck. Would I have let you kiss me if I didn’t?”

Luke stands still, so Michael decides to take it in his own hands. He steps closer, takes Luke’s hand. The blond doesn’t protest. Michael leads him into the apartment, closes the door behind, but Luke stays silent.

“Luke?” Michael calls softly, and the blue eyes focus on him again.

“MIkey,” Luke whispers, “Mikey, I’m-”

“Shh!” Michael literally has to put his hand on Luke’s mouth. “Just shut up, will you? I don’t want to hear it, not another word. Just…” Michael doesn’t know what he’s saying. “Just come here,” he says, in a gentle voice, and brings Luke closer by the hand. He waits for Luke to look him in the eye, then presses a kiss to Luke’s lips. It takes all of Michael’s willpower to not let his hunger turn it into a heated one, but he’s got bigger things on his mind. He pulls away.

“Yes, I missed you. Yes, I love you,” Luke’s eyes shine at that. “Hell, I probably always will,” Michael continues. His hands find Luke’s, subconsciously braiding their fingers together. “But that doesn’t change what happened.”

Luke nods, eyes now glistening with guilt.

“And don’t look at me like that, like you don’t remember that I fucked up as well,” Michael says. “We need to figure this out. I want to. Do you?”

Luke nods, lost for words. Michael smiles.

“Okay, then. We’ll just take it slow, alright?” Michael waits, but Luke seems to have gone mute after hearing that Michael still loves him. “Fuck, Luke you gotta speak, or we’re back to square one,” Michael says, and Luke nods again, brings Michael closer.

Luke’s arms encircle Michael’s waist as he whispers, “Can I stay the night?”

Michael frowns. “We’re not having sex until we talk this out.”

“I’m not staying to have sex,” Luke argues, like the mere suggestion offends him. “I just can’t leave you, Mikey. Not even for a while.”

And Michael gives in, because really he’s already got nothing to lose, so he nods and makes Luke sit on the bed with him.

“You did survive two months without me somehow,” Michael can’t help but remind him, and if his voice sounds dry then it’s only because Michael remembers how hard it was for him.

“I was miserable the whole time,” Luke says in a small voice, shaking his head. “I was so obnoxious, thinking I did the right thing when I left. Like I said, I’m just a fucking idiot.” Neither of them say anything for a couple of minutes, then Luke continues. “I was going to see you, even before the phone thing. I called Calum to find out how you were doing, and, well. I wasn’t going to barge into your life if you had someone new. He told me you weren’t seeing anyone, so I got hopeful,” Luke chuckled. “That’s when he offered to meet because discussing it over the phone didn’t seem enough.” There’s another pause, while Michael waits for the rest of it. Luke looks out the window, his lips curled up in a humorless smile. “First thing he did when we met was punch me in the face.”

“What?” Michael looks at him, horrified. Luke nods, and Michael can see it now: a faded yellow spot on Luke’s cheekbone where Calum must have hit him.

“Well, I kind of had it coming, didn’t I? Leaving you like I did, and then planning to waltz back into your life like it was nothing. Should have known he won’t let me do that.” Luke looked at Michael. “He loves you, Mikey, he’s a really good friend.”

“Don’t I know it,” Michael huffs, thinking that he has to give Calum a giant hug for being so protective and not even telling Michael about all this to keep him from hurting more.

“You should’ve punched me yourself,” Luke whispers, anguish palpable in his voice. “For everything I did.”

“Shut up,” Michael says rather impatiently. “That doesn’t solve anything. Talking does. So, what happened next?”

“I swore to him over and over that I wasn’t going to press it, and he made me promise that if you told me no, I’d have to leave you alone. He told me you often come to that coffee shop, told me to take my chances but not to count on you running into my arms, so I didn’t.” Luke shuffles of the bed, hugging his knees to himself. “I sat there for so long, thinking about what to say and I just couldn’t come up with anything. And then you came, and you were… So small and sad and kind of in your own bubble that I didn’t dare ruin it. I thought I’ve done enough damage, so I panicked and ran away. I didn’t mean to leave my phone,” blue eyes are shining at Michael, afraid that he won’t believe it but Michael does.

“I figured,” he replies. “From the whole “did you look through my phone” charade. You’re not a good actor, you know.”

“Sorry,” Luke says. “About getting pissed about the phone. I just knew that you’d take it the wrong way, the passcode and your number still saved and stuff… That you’d think I was a pathetic ex begging for you to take me back, even though that’s basically true.”

“Well,” Michael says, willing himself to not give in to the pity he was feeling as he heard that. “I think we’ve established that you’re not an ex any longer.”

It's a bold suggestion, considering they haven’t really discussed anything yet, but Luke’s eyes are hopeful and he’s smiling genuinely now.

“Have we?” he asks quietly, and Michael knows that he’s only making sure, afraid to assume anything, so he takes it upon himself to cover Luke’s hand  with his own and squeeze it assuringly.

“Only if you promise to never leave again,” he says seriously. “Like, never, I mean it. I love you,” it feels natural, to say the words, just like before, and it gives Michael hope that it can be the way it was. “I love you, and I want to be with you till, like, the end of time,” he knows that Luke won’t laugh because his words are cheesy, that he understands. “I just need to know that this won’t end like the last time."

Luke looks at him like Michael is something magical, precious and definitely not real.

“It won’t.” Luke’s voice is still barely audible, but firm. “I know we’re not perfect, we're both kind of fucked, but I love you and I don’t want to go out there looking for someone new. I don’t want to want anyone but you, Michael.”

Michael wants to kiss him, but Luke’s other hand on his chest stops him.

“It won’t end like the last time, I promise,” Luke says, his eyes glistening in the dark. “It will end with us in a church, putting rings on each other’s fingers. It will end with us graduating with honors, and we’ll earn our own place and a car and everything we want. It will end with our children that we’ll find when we feel like we’re ready. I can see that. Can you?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, because even if this all sounds too perfect and unrealistic, that’s who Luke is - he’ll set himself an impossible goal and won’t quit until he reaches it.

Michael finds a switch near the bed and clicks it, so the room is lit up with the soft light of the table lamp, and he looks out the window that the raindrops are still hitting from the outside.

“It’s like the whole time we were apart, I was in the dark,” Michael says, realizing now that he says it that it’s the truth. “Everything was just gloomy and even on sunny days it felt like rain.”

“I know what you mean,” Luke whispers. “It won’t be like that now. You’re with me, right?”

And Michael smiles, because Luke is a giant nerd who likes to remind people his name means “light” and because this room is suddenly a home again.

“Can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, but yes, I believe I am,” he finally leans in all the way, connecting their lips in a sweet kiss, and they have to pull away because they’re both smiling too hard. “Now, what were you saying about a wedding?”

 


End file.
